


You Alone Can Make My Song Take Flight

by NekoMida



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: Body Positivity, Candlelight, F/M, First Time, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Phantom's Bed, Praise Kink, Romance, Sharing a kink, The Lair - Freeform, Turned on by loyalty, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, romantic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoMida/pseuds/NekoMida
Summary: Love and tenderness exude through the flesh.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39
Collections: Yes Fest 2020





	You Alone Can Make My Song Take Flight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/gifts).



“Christine, Christine.” 

Softly, as if it would disturb her, though Christine did not answer. She was doing things with her fingers beneath her skirts that would be shameful if she was caught. Teasing her clit in slow circles, imagining the Angel of Music as a handsome man who would sweep her from her feet and make her heart pound in her chest like a fluttering bird.

Little did she know that she was being watched, the very Angel of Music Christine was thinking of staring at her from behind the glass, watching tiny fingers dip into slick folds, listening to the soft cries that his angel made. Her cries made tension build in his stomach and loins, ready to spirit her away to their marriage bed right that moment if she so desired. There was nothing more that he desired than to make her his own.

Erik watched Christine’s hips thrust into the air, her deliciously plump lips biting down on her other hand to keep quiet as she worked herself into an orgasm, wearing herself out with a strangled cry as she came. How he longed to make her his own, though his deformities had denied him pleasures of the flesh; he was inexperienced but watching her made his heart beat madly across his chest. She would be his, and his alone; he had seen her suitor, making advances towards his prize. Christine was his. And Erik would prove it.

Nights passed as she came back to the room with the mirrors, and he pressed a hand to the thin glass that hid his lair from the world--she would be the first to see, the first to know of him and his world. He would show her his affections for her, lure her into his lair, where he had prepared a world away from the petty luxuries of the opera house.

She was standing right there, praying to him, asking for his guidance, and Erik could not help himself, revealing the mirror. And his Angel begged him for forgiveness, her delicate voice pleading out that she was human and that she’d had a moment of weakness with her suitor earlier. Erik forgave her; she was so loyal to him that it stirred his heart.

“Flattering child, you shall know me, see why in shadow I hide!  
Look at your face in the mirror--I am there inside!”  
The shocked look upon her face made him smile, and she approached the mirror, tracing over the line of the frame as she looked upon his reflection, the white mask on Erik’s face a curiosity.  
“Angel of Music, guide and guardian. Grant to me your glory!  
Angel of Music, hide no longer! Come to me, strange angel…”

It was when he took her into his arms that he could smell the perfume in her hair, the only thing she ever allowed to disguise her true beauty. It reminded him of the moonlit fields of France, a memory long since passed; he had no need for a moonlit field, only the warmth in his arms. She was radiant, beautiful, everything he wished for in a lover, and her fingers reached up to touch the edge of the mask.

He froze, before taking her fingers in his gloved hand and pressing them to his mouth, kissing the slim fingertips gently. A silent warning to her, that he was not confident in his looks, and that she should not remove his mask, no matter how curious she was. His heart leapt into his throat as he saw the look she gave him, before pressing his lips to hers. She tasted of rich wine, of candle’s smoke, of mint; warm as a summer’s sunlit caress. 

Christine was enamored by her Angel, the feelings of want stirring in her heart and between her legs. This was her Angel, the one who loved her so and professed it every night that she sang. There were always red roses, always gifts from him; he truly was an Angel, despite the mask. 

“Angel, let me see you.”

“Not yet, my Christine. Not yet.” She deserved the best of the best; candlelit corners away from the rest of the world, where he could comfort her presence with his own, their innocence blending together as they became one. Her hands were warm in his, enough that he could feel her shaking through the fabric of his gloves. “Angel, your hands are shaking. Do you fear me?”

His heart would break in twain if she did.

Her lips pressed against his own once more, pressing his hand against the thin fabric of her nightgown. “Angel, my Angel of music. I could never fear you. My heart races for you, and I fear that it will burst from my chest at any moment.”

Erik swallowed his own fears, drawing Christine towards him. “Then, Christine, come with me. I shall give you everything you are worthy of, and more. Put your fears to rest, my dearest.” He caressed her cheek gently, leading her to the gondola that would take them to his lair, hidden from the rest of the world. Tonight, the sounds that escaped from between her lips would be his, and his alone.

The candles seemed to rise above the fogged waters as his chambers came into view, their splendor only paired with the scent of mildew and rotting wood that emanated from the waters below. Erik had brought oils to cover up the scent, luring Christine closer as he sang to her, pressing feverish lips to her wrist, to the soft skin on the back of her hand. Her hand was so small in his, so soft, that Erik closed his eyes.

She was spellbound by him, this beautiful man who sang to her, who had tutored her through life. And his heart was on his sleeve, dark eyes glimmering behind the mask that he wore, passion building in his voice, drawing her to the music of the night and its secretive embrace. Her steps were cautious, quiet against the stone floors slick with water and perfumed oils; candlelight glittering from the pools and all around them like the grandest stage.

“Angel, you must have a name. Tell it to me, please.” Christine was so kind to him, that Erik did not feel her fingers at the edge of his mask, curious to see his face, and they knocked across the heavy mask, sending it to the floor. He could only stand there in shock, his fury and sorrow building as his chest heaved.

But as he started to speak, his angel caressed the ruined skin, no pity in her eyes, and she pressed her lips against the side of his face. Waves of horror and intrigue built in Erik’s stomach, only subsiding when her lips barely pressed against his own. “Angel, you are beautiful. Do not hide from me, my wondrous angel.”

“Erik.” It came out strangled, as his eyes lowered to half-lidded, swallowing his self-loathing back into himself as her fingertips grazed his skin. “My name is Erik.”

“Erik.” Christine repeated to him, following his gentle lead back towards the grand bed he slept in, dressed for her arrival with stolen silks and the softest satins available to his opera house, gleaned from the tailor and made with his own two hands. He pulled her to him, hands wrapping around her tiny waist, nearly shredding the thin fabric she wore. “You are beautiful, Erik.” 

He gasped as Christine’s mouth met his own, curious and hungry. Erik’s fingers gripped her tightly, listening to the soft gasps and throaty moans Christine fed to his lips, eager fingers tangling in the wig he wore before it was pushed to the cavern floor. A gasp left his lips, almost immediately pulling Christine from his embrace, waiting for her horror to take place of the passion she’d just bestowed on him. But he was mistaken; the gentle hands coaxed him back to her, brushing the hair between her fingers.

“Look at me.” Christine chided him, watching the dark gaze fall to her, shame and hatred rising in his piercing stare. “You are beautiful. For a rose by any other name is just as sweet, and you are lovely. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I think you are as beautiful as your music.”

She was so sweet to him, so loving, that Erik found himself buried into her hair, breathing in the calming scent of her perfume. She could accept him. She wanted him, as badly as he wanted her, no inhibition in her eyes as lips pressed against his own. Her kiss was curious, but Erik’s was hungry, wanting, needing of the affection she gave him--she saw his face, his true face, and still thought that he was beautiful, not an ugly monster to be locked away or beaten.

Sweeping her from her feet and into his arms, Erik made the last few steps towards the bed, carefully laying his prize across the satin covers. Her fingers pulled at the silken cravat around his neck, the hiss of the fabric sending a shiver up his spine. Goosebumps lined Christine’s skin, her body shivering under Erik’s touch as he slipped the laces from her corset around his fingers. It was like unwrapping a gift from God, a thing he deserved to have years ago but would suffice for knowing now; the thin lace of her stockings making his mouth dry as Erik slid his hands up them, learning every inch of her.

His Christine.

The buttons on his shirt frustrated her, enough that Christine let out a cry as she tore them open, tired of them slipping between her small fingers. Erik shushed her gently, letting her hand trail down the expanse of skin she’d found buried beneath the heavy linen garment, tracing every line of muscle with exquisite, torturous movements. He would come undone for this woman, burying his face in her neck as a hand cupped her breast through the corset, feeling the supple flesh give way as a moan tore from her lips.

Kisses peppered her skin with delight, tongue and teeth memorizing each tantalizing curve from her throat to her hips, marking with sharp delight at her trembling and breathy gasps. She was his and the world would know it--she would know it, when she looked in the mirror every night before bed. “Erik.” Her fingers coaxed his face back to hers, instead of his destination--to be buried between her legs, to taste the sweet honey that dripped between her thighs. He could already feel the dampness against his leg, and Erik brushed a stray curl away from her face. “Christine.”

“Make me yours, angel. Sing me the music of the night.” Erik swallowed, feeling her hands tempting him as they dragged down his chest towards his erection, her fingers undoing the buttons to his trousers with care. Strange, that the delicate creature he longed for was so full of fire and passion that would equal his own. Featherlight fingertips dragged against him, leaving Erik to choke softly. “Soft, like velvet, but hard as iron…” Christine, his Christine, was marvelling at him.

Her thin slip was pushed upwards by shaking fingers, the frail lace of her underwear snapped by his hands as she shivered beneath him. Warmth pooled under his hand as he cupped her sex, theading his fingers into the crease of her sex until he stroked at her core. She cried out, and squeezed his cock so deliciously in her hands that Erik grunted out soft words of praise towards her, growing harder when she murmured them back, hips bucking into his hands.

“Erik, Erik please. Please, it’s so good, please don’t stop!” Words of praise showered over him, and he touched her in every way he could, finding out what pleased Christine the most and edging her towards bliss, her grip slacking as Christine fumbled to hold onto anything, warmth pooling in her stomach as her legs began to shake, a cry erupting from her throat as she came, sending Erik to the edge himself.

Watching her go over the edge was addicting, his heart aching against his breast as Erik licked his lips. His own arousal had heightened with her praise, something he found shameful at first, before pressing a kiss to Christine’s cheek with heightened awe, laying in her splendor. “Do it again, Christine.”

Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, flush with want and contentment. “What, Erik?” If she could manage to do anything for him to give her the wondrous feeling that tingled the edge of her toes and made her feel limp with relaxation, she would do it for him. “What do you want me to do again?”

“...praise me.” Softly, mused against her hair as he undid her corset, the magnificent robe she had been wearing spread behind her like a pair of wings. “Sing my praises, my angel, Christine; I feel so free when you praise me.”

He sat back, shirking the linen shirt from his back, listening to her breath hitch at the musculature beneath. She really did find him pleasing to her eyes, the gentle caress of her hand touching his hips to help push down his trousers. At last, he was above her, murmuring his love for her and her voice, thankful for her praise and her tenderness that seemed to wash over him. And those devilish fingertips, tempting as Hell itself, teasing him until they were slick with fluid and his own fingers were balled in the sheets.

“Like silk in my hands…” Christine mused quietly, whispering praises back to him. “You feel amazing. I would tell God himself that the angel he gave me is beautiful, both in body and in soul.” His fingers were hard on her hips, nearly bruising as Erik thrust against her hand, only pulling away when he could take no more of her loving teases and kisses. He wanted her, wholly and truly.

“Please, my love, let me claim you as my own. I would be faithful to you; any other does not compare to you.” Erik murmured, pressing a long kiss to Christine’s lips, cock twitching in her hands as she slowly worked him from his fervor, feeling the lace of her stockings against his naked hips. “I would be gentle, and provide for you.”

He broke the kiss to see her lips parted, and she released him, hand slick with fluid as Erik shifted a pillow behind her head. Gentle hands opened her legs, gazing over the flushed skin of her neck that dappled over her breasts, down her stomach, to below the slip she still wore. Carefully, he spread her knees apart and knelt above Christine, appearing as if he was praying at an altar in the candlelight. And who was to say that he wasn’t? She was his Heaven.

Torturously slow he slid into her, enveloped by her arms and the warmth of her cunt, easing himself to not stutter forward in haste. Christine writhed beneath Erik, her hands gripping his shoulders as he stretched her in a way that felt both painful and pleasurable, a soft breath leaving her lips as his hips met hers. He was fully sheathed inside of her, pressing kisses to her cheeks as he shushed her tears away, praising her strength.

“So wonderful, Christine. You are so wonderful.” Her hand buried into Erik’s hair, holding the side of his head with sparse wisps as if he was fragile. He truly was, feeling as if he would come undone in her embrace. “My Christine, my angel of music. Sing for me, praise me; as loud or as soft as you’d like.”

Erik thrust forward into her, sliding against the slickness that dripped from between her thighs, holding onto her for dear life. Curses streamed from his lips, things that should not have been said in front of a lady, and he cupped one of her breasts, rolling the nipple between his fingers. She squeezed him inside of her, the tightness enveloping his in a way that made him see the very stars outside. “Fuck, Christine. Fuck!”

Erik’s hips stuttered forward, spilling between her legs as he cried out, shivering under her touch. His face had long denied him pleasures of the flesh, and yet he had wished to be with Christine so badly that it had affected him. But she cooed to him, her hips bucking upward against him until he was hard again, fingers sliding to grip her cheeks of her ass within his palms.

Christine could only gasp as he set a brutal pace, her breasts bouncing against her chest as he fucked her into the satin spread, her hands balling into the fabric as Erik continued his punishing pace. “Erik, angel, I’m going to..!” A scream tore from her lips as an orgasm washed over her body, toes curling within her stockings as shivers wracked her body. He spilled over into her again, chest heaving as she cried out again, pleasure washing over her.

Both their bodies were covered in remnants of their orgasm, sweat-slick and flushed as they stared back towards one another. The haze built over their eyes, and Erik slid from inside of Christine, the chilled air making his breath hitch. “I will be better next time, my beloved.” His hand caressed her cheek, drawing a blanket over her heated skin. Candlelight flickered over them, and Christine held Erik’s hand in her own, biting her lip.

“You are wonderful. Those who would deny you such pleasure have missed out.” Long lashes fell to her cheeks, and Erik leaned down to press a slow, passionate kiss upon her lips before tucking himself back into his trousers. He moved away for a moment, bringing a kettle of hot water to the bathtub. 

“I’m afraid that it’s cold water, but I can heat some for a bath. You must wish to be clean.” An almost smile perked at his lips, the ghost of it falling as soon as it had appeared. “Let me help you.” Pausing, Erik walked to the bed once again, scooping Christine into his arms, nuzzling into her mussed curls. He was gentle as he placed her near the bath, and he went to get the soap, feeling the press of her breasts against his back.

“Will you join me, Erik? Perhaps...we could try lovemaking once more.” Her small fingers ran down his back, across his chest for a moment, before she stepped backwards, stripping off any clothing she had left. “Slower, this time.”

She’d be the death of him, truly, and Erik pressed his lips to hers, already imagining being sheathed inside of Christine once more, seeing her move against him as she chased the high it brought both of them, his heart aching delightfully. They could not, would not ever see her like this--and that miserable suitor, with all of his flashy gifts and dazzling smile, could never love her like this. “Of course, Christine.”

Candles would burn to stumps of their former selves before Erik would let her leave--or if she even wanted to leave. Water sloshed below them, the bubbles in the bath almost heavenly as Christine seated herself upon him, tender kisses and touches upon Erik’s skin. 

For a creature such as he, who had been damned from the moment he was born, she saw Heaven in him.


End file.
